


Red Ball

by romanticalgirl



Series: Life on the Streets [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Blood and Violence, Brutal Murder, M/M, Murder Mystery, Snipers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Steve and Bucky have been in an established relationship for a while, going strong despite a history of two murder investigations. A brief misunderstanding, hurt feelings, stubbornness, an assassin, and Steve being accused ofanothermurder - a double murder this time - put a damper on things.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Life on the Streets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/921702
Comments: 23
Kudos: 102





	Red Ball

**Author's Note:**

> There is a brief paragraph of description of a murder victim's cause of death as well as wounds on a corpse and some of the crime scene. It is said by a coroner, so there's not any glorification of it. All assassinations occur off-screen. There is violence to a criminal at the end of the story.
> 
> If you wish to skip the scene description, stop right before Bucky goes in to the morgue to talk to Clint, stop at
> 
> _“Also doable.” He gets up and follows Clint to the morgue. The latest sniper victim is laid out on the table. There’s a neat round hole in the center of his forehead directly above the bridge of his nose.”What have you got?”_
> 
> and return at 
> 
> _“No family that we could find. Paperwork takes time to push through.”_
> 
> It's a short skip - just about five paragraphs - so be sure to scroll so you don't see the paragraph.

* * *

“What are you doing here?”

Steve raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. Bucky has to admire how the T-shirt fits Steve; the small holes in it hinting at the firmness of his abs. He reaches out and puts two fingers under Bucky’s chin and tilts his head up. “Eyes are up here, Barnes.”

“Right.” Bucky nods. “Please tell me you’re not under arrest.”

“I want to be offended, but I suppose that’s a fair question.” He lets his hand trail from Bucky’s chin to his waist, hooking a finger in one of his belt loops. “I’m actually here to take you to lunch.”

“You are?”

“Unless you’re busy.”

“Nah. Haven’t caught a case and the lead I’ve been working on fell through. Feel free to take me away.”

“C’mon then.”

Tony comes into the squad room and looks Steve over. “You’re not wearing handcuffs, Rogers. Is that allowed? Because we’ve been talking about taking up a collection to get you personalized ones.”

“What happened? Did the Stark fortune run out and you can’t pay for them all by yourself?”

“Hey, it’s not me you’re sleeping with. Or do you and Barnes already have a pair?”

“Didn’t know you were that interested in our sex life.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s free hand and drags him toward the door. “I need this conversation to stop happening. Lunch.”

Steve follows along easily, their fingers laced together. “Parked in the east lot.” Bucky heads that way, pulling Steve closer. Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand and slides his arm around him instead. Bucky steps nearer to him and turns his head. Steve smells like sawdust.

“So, where are you taking me? I fully expect to be both wined and dined.”

“You’re on duty. Can’t wine you.” Steve kisses Bucky’s temple. ”But I brought soda. That’s bubbly like champagne, so it’s pretty much the same thing.”

“Almost.” Bucky waggles his eyebrows. “We could go home for a quickie.”

“I don’t do quickies. I do ‘spend hours taking you apart.’”

Bucky shivers. “I’m okay with that too.”

“Just get in the car.” Steve gets in and starts driving once Bucky's settled. He heads away from downtown, driving off into a more suburban area.

“Where are you taking me? Are you secretly a soccer mom? Are you taking me to your cleverly disguised split-level lair?”

Steve stiffens slightly, smiling tightly. “Guess I am the villain in our story, huh?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bucky sighs and gives Steve a look. “I was going more for a sex lair.”

“A sex lair.”

“It’s a thing.”

“That you just made up?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Bucky flips him off, sticking his tongue out at the same time. “You’re mean. I don’t like you anymore.”

“That so?”

“Yes.” 

“Hm. No sex lair for you then.” He pulls into a driveway and stops the car. “You can just stay out here in the car I guess.”

Bucky looks at the house in front of them. “You brought me to a condemned building? We really do have to work on your idea of romance.”

“Come on.”

“You’re sure it’s safe?”

“Just don’t go up to the second floor.”

“There’s absolutely no chance in hell of me doing that.” He gets out and follows Steve inside completely against his better judgement. Steve shuts the door behind him and takes Bucky’s hand.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and Steve gives him a small smile, something sad in it. “Trust me.”

“You know I do.”

“C’mon.” He leads him down the short hallway. It opens into a huge room, large enough that even the dark drapes covering the windows don’t seem to shrink the size. But Bucky’s eyes are caught on the center of the room. There’s a blanket laid out, surrounded by work lights that are pointed toward the ceiling, and there’s a picnic laid out on the blanket.

“Okay. So we’re having a picnic in a condemned building.”

“We’re having a picnic in my new house.” Steve sits on the blanket and pats the ground next to him. 

“I’m sorry. Your what? You bought a house?”

“Yeah. I’m going to fix it up. Got it cheap, so by the time I get it finished, it’ll still have cost me less than a new place would.”

“You bought a house.” Bucky nods, his voice flat.

“Yes?” Steve sounds hesitant.

“Your new house.”

“Again. Yes.”

“And how do I fit into this?”

Steve frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you bought a house. That you plan to live in.” Bucky shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest, hurt and defensive.

Steve’s obviously getting irritated and obviously has no idea what Bucky’s talking about. “Yes. I bought a house. What the hell, Buck?”

“ _Your_ house.”

Steve exhales slowly and nods. “And you want to know why you weren’t consulted.”

Something about Steve’s tone pisses Bucky off, pushing him the rest of the way to angry. “I think it’s a valid question.”

“Because it’s not _our_ house.”

Bucky grits his teeth together to keep from losing his temper, to keep from snapping, or worse, yelling at Steve. “Yeah. You’ve made that pretty clear.” He turns on his heel and walks out, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing before he’s even out of the room. “Nat? I need a ride.” He stops so he can look at Steve. “What’s _your_ new address?”

Steve tells him, his voice completely expressionless. Buck repeats it to Natasha and starts walking again.

“You’re telling me what the fuck is going on,” she informs him, an implied threat in the statement.

“Don’t worry. I’ll need someone to vent to.” He doesn’t look back, just slams the door behind him.

**

Nat listens to the story on the way back to the station, smacking the back of his head when he finishes.

“Hey! What the fuck?”

“What does Steve do for a living?”

“You know what he does.”

“Barnes.” She asks him again, enunciating every word. “What does Steve do for a living?”

“He renovates houses.”

The light turns red and she stops and stares at him. “And tell me, did that house look in dire need of renovation?”

“But he _bought_ it. If that’s what he’s doing, why not tell me?”

“How are you such a good detective and yet so fucking dumb?”

“What?”

“He bought the house to fix it up. And he wanted to show you the before.”

“He said it was his house.”

“His. Not yours.”

“ _That’s the problem_. If he’s going to fix it up, if there’s an _after_ , I should have had a say.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“How am I in the wrong here?” Bucky glares at her. “You’re saying if Clint went out and just bought a house, you’d be fine with it?”

“If he renovated houses for a living instead of being a medical examiner? Yes. I mean, I’d have a problem if he just started bringing home dead bodies.” Bucky shakes his head and Natasha sighs. “He’s going to flip the fucking house, James.”

“Then why show it to me?”

“Because you’re his _boyfriend_. Because he is probably going to be working a lot and he wants you to know why. Because he’s excited about his new project.”

“With a romantic lunch?”

“You’re hopeless.”

Bucky leans back in his seat. “Your sympathy is overwhelming.”

“I don’t know what you’re mistaking for sympathy. Pity maybe.”

“Thanks.”

“I call it like I see it.”

He sighs. “You think I’m overreacting.”

“Yes!”

“I don’t know. I think maybe we want different things. Maybe we need to take a break.”

“Okay, this is the last time I’m going to say this. Don’t be a fucking idiot. You love him. He loves you. Maybe talk to him instead of going straight to doomsday.”

“No. We’re on a different page from each other. I think I’m expecting more from him than he’s giving.”

Natasha pulls over to the side of the road and stops the car. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out of the car.”

“We’re not back at the station.”

“I don’t care. Get out, you monumental idiot. You’ve been through two murder investigations together and _this_ is what’s making you want to take a step back?” Before Bucky can say anything, Natasha points at the door. “Out.”

“You’re serious.”

“Get. Out.”

“I can’t believe you.”

She reaches across him and opens his door. “Out.”

Bucky gets out of the car, and he barely has the door shut before she's taking off. He flips her off and starts walking. He stops under a shop awning and pulls out his phone, and looks at a new text from Steve.

_Can you call me please? Maybe some wires got crossed_

Bucky takes a deep breath and looks around before looking at the message again. He stares at it, trying to be objective, for a long time before responding. It’s hard to swallow and his chest is tight as he types.

_I think we should take some time apart_

He’s not supposed to turn off his phone when he’s on duty, but he does, shoving it into his pocket as he starts walking back to the station.

**

Natasha doesn’t speak to him the rest of the day, and he’s not sure if she said something to everyone else or if he’s just giving off an aura that keeps everyone, even Tony, away.

The phone doesn’t ring, so as soon as his shift is over, Bucky heads home. Or he intends to. Instead he stops at a bar close to his place. It takes him three beers to finally work up the courage to turn his phone on. He flags the bartender and orders a whiskey as everything loads. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not nothing. 

But that’s what he gets.

No texts, calls, or emails. He drinks the whiskey down as soon as it’s in front of him. He sets the glass on the counter and signals for his bill, paying it and walking outside. The crisp air doesn’t seem to help his head or his lungs, but he takes several deep breaths before driving home slowly, relaxing as he gets closer.

Steve’s probably there waiting for him. Waiting to talk, explain, figure things out.

He opens the door and calls out Steve’s name. There’s no answer, and when Bucky walks inside, he kicks something on the floor just in front of the door. He knows without looking what it is, but he kneels down and picks it up anyway, closing his hand around the key.

He knew, no matter what he tried to believe, that Steve wouldn’t be there. He knows him, knows how he thinks. He pockets the key and goes to the bedroom, even though he knows he’ll regret it. Nothing looks different except Steve’s glasses aren’t on the nightstand. There’s an envelope in their place. He sits on the edge of the bed and opens it with shaking fingers.

His chest feels tight and he can’t swallow. Steve’s handwriting is precise, even when it’s not the clear block print on his blueprints. Bucky traces the single word, feeling where the letters press into the paper.

_Sorry_

“Fuck.” Bucky digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Steve, waiting through five rings before it kicks over to voicemail. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. Please call me back. I love you.” He takes a shaky breath. “Seriously. Any time. Just. Please, okay?”

He hangs up and texts Natasha. _He left._

_What do you mean left?_

_Left a note. Left his key. Left me._

_What did you say to him? I know he didn’t just leave on his own._

_That we needed some time._

_Did I mention you’re an idiot? Because I was wrong. You’re a fucking idiot._

_He won’t answer the phone._

_Do you blame him?_

_Do I drive over to his place?_

_No. You leave him alone until he answers you._

_I could go over there._

_Leave him alone, Barnes. This was you fucking up. Give him some time._

_What if he doesn’t come back?_

_Then you really screwed the pooch, didn’t you?_

_I’m calling Sam. He'll make me feel better._

_Maybe so, but I’ll tell you the truth_

**

There’s no message in the morning. No text. Bucky takes his phone in the bathroom so he can hear it if it rings while he showers.

It doesn’t.

He leaves early for work so he can drive by Steve’s house. Steve’s truck is in the driveway and Bucky stops, parking alongside the curb. He swallows hard and takes out his phone. He dials Steve’s number and gets no answer. He gets Steve’s voicemail again and sighs.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m a complete and utter dick. An asshole. I overreacted and jumped to conclusions and Nat told me I was being stupid and I didn’t listen even though I know to always listen to her. Please call me back. I love you.”

The phone beeps and Bucky bangs his head against the steering wheel. He watches the house for a few more minutes, waiting for something, anything – Steve to walk past the window, to open the door, to call him back. He’s still sitting there fifteen minutes later when Steve’s neighbor comes out and walks over, knocking on the passenger window. Bucky lowers it. “Hey, Mrs. Jefferson.”

“You should go on, James, darling.”

“I really need to talk to him. Tell him I’m sorry. That I messed up.”

“He knows.”

Bucky sighs. “I fucked up so bad.” Blanching, he meets her eyes. “Shit. Sorry. Um. I mean…”

“I’ve heard worse in my time. Go on. Give him time.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He closes his eyes tightly. “Will you tell him that I’m sorry? That I’m an idiot?”

“He knows that. Go on now.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry to put you in the middle of this.”

She taps the roof of his car and walks back to her house. He knows she’s right. Knows that trying to force anything with Steve right now will backfire spectacularly, but the thought of doing nothing feels too much like giving up.

He looks down at his phone just in case it rang and he missed it, as ridiculous as that is. There’s nothing, just like he knows there won’t be. Nothing, just like he expects.

He drives to work and ignores everyone once he enters the squad room. Sam and Natasha give him sharp looks, but he avoids their gazes. It’s almost a half hour before someone breaks. Bucky’s not surprised it’s Tony, but he is surprised it took so long.

“Someone needs to tell us what’s going on. The suspense is killing us. Romanov? Are you pregnant? You are, aren’t you? Oh, man. Is it Barnes’s?”

She levels Tony with a chilly stare. “Stark, do you have a death wish?”

“Okay, well, what about you, Barnes? Rogers knock you up? He gonna make an honest woman out of you?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. Should start showing soon. Roughly about the time you learn to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

“Uh-oh. Is there trouble on murderer’s row?”

“Stark.” Sam and Natasha both say his name simultaneously, and Stark’s mouth shuts with a snap of teeth. There’s an awkward silence that seems louder than the hum of the next department, like the whole room is holding its breath. Clint walks in and stops, turning on his heel and walking right back out just as the silence is shattered by the bitter shrill of the phone.

Bucky never thought he’d be happy about a murder.

“Barnes. Homicide.”

**

The next three weeks are excruciating. Bucky doesn’t get much sleep, and he doesn’t spend much time in the squad room. He’s actually glad for it, not wanting to talk about Steve, not wanting to admit that none of his calls have been answered, none of his texts returned.

He limits himself to two drinks a night, because otherwise he thinks he might not stop. As it is, they don’t help him sleep, and he knows he looks haggard when his prime suspect is put in the box to stew a bit.

He’s on his third cup of coffee, finally heading to the small room, when he stops dead at the sight of Natasha heading toward the other interrogation room, walking behind Steve.

Who’s in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?”

Steve’s steps falter slightly, but Natasha has a hand at his back, keeping him moving. Bucky, as well as everyone else in the room, stares at them until the door closes.

Bucky looks at Sam and Riley. “What the fuck?”

They both shrug and Bucky heads toward the room Natasha’s in, but Captain Coulson grabs his arm. “You’ve got your own suspect.”

“I’ve got…”

“Barnes.”

Bucky growls under his breath and slams his way into his interrogation room. His suspect looks up at him and goes pale, even paler when the legs of Bucky’s chair squeal across the floor as he pulls it back and turns it around, straddling it backward.

“Murder does not make me happy. Domestic violence and murder make me _very_ unhappy. And I just got some very upsetting news, so I am very, very, _very_ unhappy. So I hope you don’t have any plans to lie to me, because that’s not going to go well for you.”

It’s one of the fastest and easiest confessions he’s gotten, especially since the guy never asks for a lawyer. Bucky hands him off to one of the uniforms and heads toward Natasha’s interrogation room. Sam hurries over and blocks the door. “Don’t.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, man. I just know you do _not_ need to be in there. He’s waiting on Fury.”

“Then I’m going in there to talk to Nat. Get out of my way.” He muscles past Sam into the observation room. Natasha’s leaning against the wall. She checks her watch and looks over Bucky’s shoulder. “Tell Bruce he won the bet.”

Sam nods, ignoring Bucky’s glare. Bucky slams the door as soon as Sam walks away. “What the fuck, Nat?”

“He’s under arrest.”

“Yeah. I got that from the handcuffs. _Why_ is he under arrest?”

“Well, we’re a homicide unit, so I’m thinking you can figure that much out. Beyond that, it’s not your case, and it’s not your business.”

“Damn it, Nat.”

“I’m not going to compromise this case.”

Bucky exhales roughly, turning around to look through the glass. His breath catches, and he swallows hard. Steve looks exhausted, his shoulders hunched. His head is bowed, and his fingers are buried in his hair, wrists still in the cuffs and attached to the table.

“Is he okay?”

“No.”

“Did he say anything about wanting to see me?”

“No.”

Bucky tries to swallow down the noise he makes, but he doesn’t think he quite manages it. “Please, Nat.”

“No. This looks bad, James. Worse than before.”

“He didn’t do this.”

“Right now he’s the prime suspect, and he’s acting guilty. Fury’ll be here soon, but they’re going to look, and they’re not going to let him out on bail.”

“Five minutes.”

“If Fury shows up and you’re in there, it’s going to fuck up my case, and I’m not going to let that happen.”

“He didn’t do it!”

“Yeah, well, three times is a hell of a coincidence.”

“You think he did this? Really?” Bucky asks, incredulous. “You _know_ him, Nat.”

“I know this is the third time he’s been arrested on suspicion of murder, and I know right now this is a lot more than circumstantial evidence.”

“I don’t believe you.” Bucky laughs, unable to hide his disbelief. “I really don’t.”

“You can’t be here, James. Get out. This is my case, and I’m not going to let you fuck it up. And if he is guilty, I’m going to make sure he goes down for it.”

“Fuck you.” Bucky slams out of the observation room, nearly running into Fury. Nick grabs him and jerks Bucky to a halt.

“Did you arrest my client?”

“No.”

“Have you interacted with my client at all?”

“I haven’t seen your client in almost a month.”

Fury’s eyebrows lift. “I don’t want you around him.”

“Don’t worry.” Bucky jerks his arm out of Fury’s grip. “He doesn’t want me around either.”

**

Bucky’s at his desk trying to concentrate. Natasha, Steve, and Fury have been in the box for hours, and Bucky’s managed to stay seated at his desk, to stay away from the observation room, but he’s on his feet the second the door opens.

“My client has never resisted arrest, Detective Romanov. I think we can dispense with the handcuffs, don’t you?”

“Your client has been arrested three times. I’m afraid he’s more than warranted cuffs.” She steps out of the way. “Do you need a guide, Mr. Rogers, or do you remember how to get there?”

Steve’s gaze lifts and, for a moment, catches Bucky’s eye, and it feels like Bucky’s heart stops. “Steve.”

“Let’s go, Rogers.”

Bucky steps closer, his voice quiet. “Nat, c’mon. Please. Just for a minute. If he’ll let me.”

Natasha’s expression is set, and Bucky’s sure she’s going to refuse until she looks at Steve and lets out a slow breath. “Rogers?”

Steve looks at Fury who rolls his good eye. “A minute. If you want it.”

“The cuffs stay on,” Natasha warns.

“Steve?” Bucky asks softly.

After what feels like an eternity, Steve nods. Bucky feels like he can breathe for the first time in a month.

“Can we?” Bucky nods toward one of the empty offices off the main room. Steve glances at Fury again, who nods.

“Not a word about this, Rogers. You say a thing to him about this case, and I’m dropping it. Understood?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s voice hits Bucky like a punch, rough and tired and so different than he’s used to. He steps toward Bucky, and it takes everything Bucky has not to just grab him. Instead he leads the way, shutting the door behind them.

Bucky swallows hard. “Can I…” He reaches out, not quite touching him.

“How are you, Buck?”

“Miserable. You haven’t returned my calls or texts.”

“You wanted time apart.”

“I told you that I made a mistake.”

“I don’t want to fight about this.” Steve sighs and looks away. “Besides, it’s better like this. So. Now you can stop calling, okay? No time needed. Just move on.”

“Steve.” Bucky shakes his head and puts a hand on Steve’s jaw, making him look at him, then slides his palm to the back of Steve’s neck. He brings their foreheads together. “I don’t want to move on. I can’t. I love you. I freaked out. I thought us buying something together was the next step, and I overreacted. I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry. Please, Steve.”

“No one’s going to believe an innocent man has been accused of murder three times.” He pulls away, but Bucky doesn’t let him go. Steve shrugs against his grip. “You did the right thing. I should get back to Nick and Natasha. Would you let Mrs. Jefferson know I’m all right? I don’t want her to worry.”

“You didn’t do this. We’re going to figure out who did. I’m not going to let them railroad you.”

“We can’t talk about this. I have to go.”

“Steve.” Bucky tightens his grip on the back of Steve’s neck again so he can pull him in, nuzzle the hinge of his jaw just at the edge of his beard. “I love you.”

“I have to go.”

“Please.” He knows he’s begging. Desperate.

Steve sighs and brushes his lips lightly over Bucky’s. “I love you too.”

Relief is sharp and sudden, and Bucky kisses him back hard. A month of loneliness, need, and fear flood into him and he deepens the kiss, devouring Steve, biting and sucking, desperate. He frames Steve’s face with his hands, moaning into his mouth.

Steve pulls back, breathing just as hard as Bucky. Leaning in again, Bucky bites Steve’s lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. Steve pulls back again, slowly, reluctantly. He starts to say something, but whatever it is is cut off by a sharp knock at the door.

“Rogers. Now.”

It’s not until Steve steps back that Bucky realizes how close they are. Steve gives him a weak smile and heads to the door, waiting beside it for Bucky to open it. Natasha looks ready to plow her way in, and Fury looks normal.

Letting her gaze drift down, Natasha smirks before meeting Steve’s eyes. “Guess we’ll have to give you your own cell.” Bucky looks down as well, flushing at the sight of Steve’s very visible erection. “Or should I just give Barnes a couple more minutes to finish you off?”

“Romanov.”

She glances back at Fury and shrugs. “Your own cell it is.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just falls in step with her. Bucky watches until they’re gone, then marches over to his desk. Sam and Riley are both staring down at paperwork, avoiding him.

“Talk.”

“Not our case, man.” Sam shakes his head. “You’ll have to talk to her.”

“She’s not going to tell me anything, and I’m _not_ going to find out about what happened in the goddamn paper.”

Riley looks at Sam and sighs. “Apparently he had an inspector at his new house to check the foundation. There’s a room off to the side of the basement the guy wanted to look at. Steve started to act weird, didn’t want him to go in there. Tried to pull the door all the way closed, but it jammed on something and opened up. Guy saw blood. Pushed his way in and there were two bodies.”

“Oh.” Bucky sinks into his chair. “Have they been identified?”

“People who owned the place before Steve. The people he supposedly bought it from.”

“No record of sale?”

“We’ve got uniforms checking.” Riley sighs, fiddling with a pen on his desk. “It looks really bad, Sarge.”

“And Nat’s decided he’s good for it.”

“According to the inspector, Steve did _not_ want him in that room.”

“Steve’s dating… He’s been dating a homicide detective. He wouldn’t just leave bodies lying around. Does Clint have a TOD?”

“Working on it.”

“It’s a condemned building. There’s no motive for anyone to kill them.” Bucky frowns at the cup of cold coffee on his desk. “He didn’t do this.”

“We know, man.” Sam agrees. “And so does Nat. She’s just doing her job.”

“I don't know. I think she believes it.”

“She can’t show any bias, or she’ll get hauled off this case so fast heads’ll spin. She’s not going to just take everything at face value, and you know that. She doesn’t really have a choice with this.”

“I know. I do. I know. I just…”

“We know.”

Bucky nods and tries to focus on the paperwork on his desk. He has a lot to do to close up the case he just finished, but his thoughts keep going back to Steve. The sight and taste and feel of him. He closes his eyes and presses the heels of his hands against them. He doesn’t look up until he hears Nat settle at her desk across from him.

“I’m going to assume someone's told you by now.”

“Bare bones,” he says with a shrug. “What do we know about the inspector?”

“ _You_ know nothing. I know that he checks out. He’s the guy Steve hired, everything on the up-and-up.”

“Photos of the crime scene?”

“Tony?”

Tony gestures for them to look at their computers. The first image is a 3D rendering of the basement. It tilts into a blueprint view and Bucky frowns. “Where’s the room?” A segment of the map starts flashing, then expands. “Did he give the guy a reason not to go in there?”

“Well, the only thing Steve said to us is ‘I want my lawyer.’ Davis, the contractor, said Steve was acting strange the whole time. Twitchy and paranoid. Told him that room was none of his business and to stay the fuck out. He slammed the door, but it bounced back and swung open.”

“And two bodies. Just lying there.”

“Dead.”

“Not hidden.”

“Inside the room? No, not really. There was a blanket over them, but it was soaked in blood.”

“And Steve _specifically_ hired this guy to come over and look all around the basement. Where he left two dead bodies in a room that was left open, and he had to dissuade the guy he hired to _look at the basement_ from going inside.”

“No one said it made sense. Murder usually doesn’t.”

Bucky sighs. “It does even less than not make sense. And I say that as a detective, not as his boyfriend or ex-boyfriend or whatever it is that I am.”

“No one’s going to take this at face value,” Sam reminds him. “We all know Steve.”

“I know. I know. Fuck.”

The phone rings, and Bucky stares at it for a long minute.

“Answer it,” Riley tells him. “Keep yourself busy.”

“Right.” It didn’t really help last time, but if he has his own case, he won’t actively interfere with Steve’s. “Barnes. Homicide.”

**

Bucky’s case turns into a fucking red ball, a sniper shooting of an ambassador's aide. Chief Coulson tells him to drop his other cases, farming them out, though he promises Bucky he’ll get the close. He knows that won’t be true if it’s fresh evidence that leads to the arrest, which is how it should be. He’s fine with it. At least his case keeps Steve out of the limelight. He’s been charged with double homicide and denied bail, so he’s sitting in the county jail. Bucky hadn’t been able to be at the bail hearing, even though he’d tried.

He heard the judge’s decision from Natasha, though she doesn’t look at him when she says it. It’s fine with him. They haven’t done much beyond nod at each other since she arrested Steve, even though he knows it’s not her fault. It still creates tension with the rest of the squad when they’re there together in the office, but fortunately, with Bucky’s case, that’s not very often.

The sniper hits again, and Bucky’s running on two hours of sleep and a forty-eight hour sleep deficit. He’s mainlining caffeine and yawning with pretty much every other breath, each one big enough to crack his jaw. His elbow is on his desk and his head is on his fist. He’s staring at Tony’s rendering of the trajectory lines, but he’s not really seeing anything that gives him a clue.

“Barnes!”

Bucky blinks rapidly and looks up at Clint. Clint’s expression makes Bucky think he’s been calling Bucky’s name for a while. “Yeah. Sorry. What’s up?”

“Got something for you.”

“Clint, if you’re offering me a break in this case, I will kiss you. Or blow you. Your choice.”

“How about you buy me a month’s worth of coffee and pizza.”

“Also doable.” He gets up and follows Clint to the morgue. The latest sniper victim is laid out on the table. There’s a neat round hole in the center of his forehead directly above the bridge of his nose.”What have you got?”

“Dug the bullet out of his brain. No rifling. Russian bullet. That’s got to be something of a signature, huh?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Clint.” Bucky turns to go, not quite sure why Clint hadn’t just sent up the report. 

Clint clears his throat. “Oh, one more thing.” He walks over to one of the drawers and pulls it out. “Multiple stab wounds, throat sliced open. Maximum blood loss.”

Bucky’s already heard the details, but this is the first time he’s seen one of Steve’s alleged victims. “They haven't been claimed yet?”

“No family that we could find. Paperwork takes time to push through.”

“No family.”

“Convenient, huh?”

“Not really. Not for Steve.”

Clint shrugs. “Older couple. Not exactly well off, but comfortable. Property is only zoned residential. Plot’s too small for a McMansion or apartment complex, and the surrounding neighbors are dug in anyway.”

“So they should have been happy to get rid of it. Even if they wouldn’t get much.”

Clint pulls the drawer out further, tugs aside the sheet so Bucky can see the whole body, see the slice and resulting curved back skin where the femoral artery was cut. “Now, I’m not a detective, but if you were planning on refurbishing a house from the ground up, but were getting the foundation checked to see if it was worth keeping, inspector or not, would you kill two people there in one of the rooms the guy was bound to inspect in one of the bloodiest, messiest ways possible?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

Bucky sighs. “Clint.”

“Fury won’t let Nat near him. She’s got questions. She needs answers.”

“You think Fury’s going to let me near him?”

“If you went as his boyfriend, Fury wouldn’t have to know.”

“Right. I’m sure that the fact that Steve’s boyfriend is a homicide detective didn’t cross Fury’s mind, and even if the facility wasn’t, Fury isn’t monitoring Steve’s visitors.”

“This is important.”

“Clint, I’ve got a fucking red ball.”

“They’re going to go for the maximum sentence. Life without the possibility of parole, and right now it’s an open-and-shut case. Hammer’s the prosecutor, and he doesn’t give a shit about life in prison. He’s going for a three-strikes, you’re out approach. Says it’s pretty damn interesting that the _boyfriend_ \--” The way Clint says it makes it clear Hammer’s going to sway public opinion using Steve’s sexuality and history. “-- of a homicide detective gets accused of multiple murders and goes free every time.”

“I wasn’t even _on_ the last case!”

“He wants a different precinct on it. Says we’re all biased by our loyalty to you. Thinks we’re all compromised.”

“Fuck. I hate that little shit.”

“Got Potts taken off the case because of her on-again, off-again relationship with Stark.”

Bucky runs his hand over his mouth, stubble rasping against his palm. “No one would pull this bullshit on the team that put this red ball down.”

“Guess you better get to work.”

“And talk to Steve.”

“Yep,” Clint says. “And talk to Steve.”

**

“Stark.” Bucky doesn’t slam Clint’s report on Tony’s desk, but it’s a near thing. “Russian bullets. No rifling.”

“Not possible.”

“I thought nothing was impossible for Tony Stark.”

“I didn’t say it was impossible for _me_.” 

“Kind of implied it.”

“Fuck you. Go away.”

Bucky smiles and goes over to his desk, taking a deep breath before picking up his phone and calling Fury.

“Nick Fury’s office.”

“Is Nick in?”

“Mr. Fury is in a client meeting. How may I help you?”

“Could you let him know that Bucky Barnes called? I believe he has my number.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Fury has no desire to speak with you, Mr. Barnes. And he also asked that I mention that he’s impressed it took you this long to call.”

“Tell him I don’t care. Tell him I have every intention of seeing Steve, and I’d like to talk to him first so I don’t damage Steve’s case. Tell him pretending Steve and I aren’t together isn’t going to keep Hammer from asking it, and not letting me see him makes it look like he’s trying to pretend the relationship doesn’t exist. So tell Nick -- Mr. Fury -- that he can meet me at Carter’s tonight at seven. I’ll even buy him a drink.” Bucky hangs up, and when he looks up, everyone currently in the squad room is staring at him. Sam’s eyes are comically wide, and Riley starts a slow clap. Natasha is standing at her desk across from him, her arms folded over her chest.

“You told off Fury.”

“Well, his secretary. I should probably send her flowers.”

“I imagine he started listening as soon as he heard it was you.”

Bucky shrugs. “I want to see Steve.”

“And if he doesn’t show?”

“Then I’ll see Steve without his okay.”

“Huh. I think that might be the first smart thing you’ve said since you went to lunch with Steve.”

“You’re not funny, Romanov.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” She sits at her desk, but doesn’t look away from him. “You talked to Clint?”

“He gave me a lead on my case, yeah.”

“And do you think you’ll want to discuss it with anyone?”

“Two heads are better than one.”

“That’s what they say.”

“Don’t know that discussing it will be much help though. Seemed pretty pessimistic last time.”

“I’m sure once you put your heads together you’ll be fine.”

Riley and Sam both try to cover their laughs, snorting and choking behind their hands they have slapped over their mouths. “So subtle,” Riley manages.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I work with children.”

“Hey!” Bucky narrows his eyes. “I didn’t laugh at your clever subterfuge!”

She raises an eyebrow. “You thought about it.”

He sticks his tongue out at her and she gives him a look that says he just proved her point.

“Hey, Cyborg?”

Bucky sighs. “That wasn’t funny, Stark. Ever.”

“Got a hit on your hitman.”

Bucky gets up and goes over to Stark’s desk. He leans over Tony’s shoulder just to annoy him. “What is it?”

“Assassin for hire. Normally works in Europe. Looks like this is his first time stateside. If anyone asks, you have no idea who hacked Europol and Interpol.”

“No one’s going to ask, Tony. They’re just going to know. Do they have anything on this person?”

“Been around since the eighties, but they’re good, so there’s not much else. Most people don’t believe they exist.”

“Right, okay. Send me what you’ve got, and I’ll figure out who hired them. Pretty sure, whoever it is, they’re not doing it for fun.”

“Has to be political.” Natasha says, and Bucky nods.

“So the question is who stands to gain from the chaos and confusion?”

“And why the New York consulate? Why not DC?”

“And why haven’t the alphabets gotten in on this? Not something you think they’d leave to the local PD.”

“Is it wrong that I’m glad I only have to deal with Fury and Hammer?”

“No, but I still hate you for it.”

“Hey, finding the bad guy and proving your pretty much dead-to-rights suspect is being framed is no walk in the park.”

“Finding a ghost story. I win.”

She rolls her eyes. “Murder isn’t a competition.”

“You always say that when you’re losing.” He smiles at her. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

“Going to kill you in your sleep.”

“You realize you just announced that to a room of homicide detectives, right?”

“I’m a homicide detective too. You think I don’t know how to commit the perfect crime?”

Sam shakes his head. “Romanov, I’m pretty sure you knew how to do that before you even went to the Academy.”

“You scare me,” Tony agrees.

“Good.” Natasha gives them all a shark-like smile, aiming it at Bucky in the end. “And the guy I’m trying to clear? It’s your boyfriend. _I_ win.”

**

Fury’s at the table at the back of the bar when Bucky gets there. He goes over and nods toward the bartender. “What can I get you?”

“Whiskey neat. And it’d better be top shelf.”

Bucky heads back to the bar and orders for both of them. He’s careful not to balk at the price, reminding himself that Steve’s worth far more than that. He sits across from Fury and slides the glass across the table before taking a drink from his beer. “Thanks for coming.”

“Did I have a choice?”

“Yeah. But it wasn’t a good one.”

“You talked to him yet?”

“No. But I want to see him. Nat needs something to go on before Hammer kicks this over to another precinct who’s going to just see open-and-shut.”

“Another precinct would be better for him. Less chance of them crying bias.”

“Again, they’re not going to look beyond the obvious if we don’t tie it up in a bow for them. Open-and-shut, remember? I know you’d win in court. You’re the best there is. But for a lot of reasons, but mostly for Steve’s sake, I don’t want it to get that far.”

Fury rubs his chin, his eyes on Bucky. Finally he sighs, leans back in his chair, and sips his whiskey. “Romanov looked at the money?”

“No record of it in their account.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

“What was in that room that Steve didn’t want him to see?”

“What’d your detectives find?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.” Bucky smirks. “But beyond a bloodbath?”

“I was taking that as a given.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t read the report. I’ve been trying to stay out of this.”

“Read it. Tell me what you think. After that, we’ll talk about you seeing Rogers.”

“Nick.”

“Figure it out on your own, Barnes. I’ve got shit to do.” He finishes his whiskey and sets his glass on the table with a solid sound. “Thanks for the drink.”

Bucky glares after him and drains his beer, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the neck of the bottle. He exhales loudly before heading to the door and getting into his car. He starts it just as his phone buzzes with a text.

_Visiting hours tomorrow 2-4_

_Thanks_

_Don’t bother. Find the guy that did it and keep Rogers out of any other murders. Fucker’s like Angela Lansbury_

Bucky snorts a laugh. “ _She solved them, didn’t get accused of them_

_I need new clientele_

_You’re the best. He’s lucky to have you._

_Rather he didn’t need to._

_Me too._

Bucky heads for home, stopping halfway there and changing direction to go to Steve’s house. He knocks on Mrs. Jefferson’s door, smiling when she answers. 

“James.”

“Hi. Just thought I’d stop by and check in with you. Check on the house.”

“Of course. How is Steven doing? I don’t see how they don’t realize how outlandish it is to think Steven could kill anyone. That man was upset when his African violets died, not to mention when Martin died.”

Bucky refuses to believe the sharp heat in his chest is jealousy. “Steve never mentioned a Martin. Who’s that?”

“Oh, my Scottish terrier, dear.” She steps back and lets Bucky come in. “I don’t know why your redhead hasn’t talked to me. I could set her straight.”

Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets, afraid to touch anything as usual. “I’m sure if Steve needs a character witness…”

“Not about Steven. About Harold and Maude.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“The people he supposedly murdered.” She huffs indignantly. “No wonder he’s still in jail if no one knows anything. I even _called_ and spoke to an officer. I expected someone to come by and see me by now.”

“You knew the victims.” It’s supposed to be a question, but Bucky’s too shocked to manage the inflection at the end.

“Of course I did. I went to Vassar with Maude. I’m the one who introduced them to Steve when I found out they wanted to get rid of that eyesore. I knew he’d like a project.”

“Mrs. Jefferson, I love you.” Bucky kisses her cheek. “Natasha is going to be here by tomorrow at the latest.”

She blushes and touches her cheek. “You two. Goodness. Go on now.” 

He hurries out of the house to his car, dialing Natasha.

“What do you want, Barnes?”

“There should be a call from Audrey Jefferson recorded at the station. She’s Steve’s next-door neighbor. She introduced Steve to the victims.”

“Does she know who took the call?”

“Not sure, but she must have called as soon as she heard. She didn’t say which day, and I only told her Steve was going to be gone for a bit, so the earliest would be the day after in the news.”

“She home now?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m on my way.”

**

Bucky can’t sleep. He ends up pacing his living room until it’s early enough in the morning to shower and go into work. He opens the physical files on his desk, going over the information from Stark. There are three folders despite Tony’s incredible dislike for paper, and there are at least twelve files on his computer.

There’s just raw data so far, just trajectories and victims, dates and events. He starts a file of his own, putting the events in chronological order. “Shit! Shit! Stark!”

Tony isn’t at his desk, so Bucky heads to the break room before he realizes that it’s far too early for anyone else to be in. He paces more until Stark finally shows up, strolling in like he owns the place. 

“Stark!” Bucky grabs his arm, dragging Tony to his computer station. 

“What? I’m busy.” He takes a long drink of his coffee.

“There are eleven days between each shooting, all of them in groups of three. Going all the way back to the first identified in Munich.”

“That doesn’t tell us who the victim’s going to be, just that they’re going to die soon.”

“I’m working on it. Get me a list of upcoming political events.”

“Okay. Sure. No problem. Do you know how many consulates and embassies there are around here? We’re the goddamn home of the UN General Assembly. A hundred-seventeen diplomatic missions. One hundred and seventeen, Barnes.”

“Well, you can rule out Germany, Pakistan, Spain, Egypt, South Korea, Sweden, Switzerland, Qatar, The Netherlands, Australia, France, Russia, France, and the UAE.”

“Speaking of, what makes you think it’ll happen here? The rest of them were all in different cities.”

“Because the last two were here. We need to figure out his pattern.”

“Isn’t that literally your job?”

“I was hoping maybe your genius would see a connection I wouldn’t, but…”

“Yeah, yeah. Appeal to my ego.”

“It usually works. Is it working this time?”

Tony sighs. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” 

Bucky goes back to work, combing through the old files looking for any other clues or patterns. He works through lunch trying to grasp what feels just out of reach. He's also desperate to keep himself from looking at the clock every few minutes. When his alarm goes off, the itch that’s been under his skin flares into heat.

“I’ll be back later.”

Tony glances up. “You get a lead?”

“Appointment.”

“Oh? Is this appointment tall, blond, and fuckable?”

“Goodbye, Tony.”

The drive feels like it takes forever, and he uses his job to get a law enforcement parking spot. He checks in and checks his gun, then follows the guard even though he knows the way. Steve’s cuffed to the table and staring down at his hands. Because Bucky’s a police officer, he gets to talk to him face to face rather than through the glass. He’s never abused the privilege before, but it’s never been Steve before.

The guard opens the door, and Steve looks up, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing here? They said Fury set up a meeting.”

“He did. For me.” He looks Steve over and frowns. He’s lost weight and he looks exhausted. Bucky makes himself sit before the urge to go around the table to Steve takes over. “Nat’s working to find whoever did this.”

“Natasha already thinks she did.”

“She doesn’t. She was just doing her job.”

Steve smirks and looks at his hands again. “I’m not sure why you’re here.”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Fine. Surely Nick could have told you that.”

“Do you hate me now?”

He still hasn’t looked up, keeping his gaze focused on his hands, fingers woven through each other. “I don’t hate you. I just think you being here doesn’t make any sense. The odds of me getting out of this are slim to none and you know it. It’s cut and dried. Occam’s razor. So the best thing you can do is move on. You wanted time apart. Life without parole should give you plenty.”

“Steve.”

“Bucky,” Steve snaps, looking up at him, blue eyes flashing. “What do you want from me? Life in prison, okay? No parole. That’s what I’m getting and that’s only because we don’t have the death penalty anymore, and you _know_ it. It’s his word against mine. It’s _my_ house. My empty laundry room that had two massacred bodies in it. He said I acted like I had something to hide. I say I didn’t. You’re the cop. You tell me who you believe. Who the _evidence_ tells you to believe.”

Bucky exhales slowly. “I believe you.”

Steve goes on, ignoring him. “So, no. I don’t hate you. But I’m a realist. Pretending this is going to end any other way is a waste of time. So just move on, okay? Just have a life with someone who doesn’t get accused of murder, okay? So pretty much anyone else.” His voice breaks at the end. He clears his throat, looking over Bucky’s shoulder. “Guard!”

“Dammit, Steve.”

“Guard! I want to go back to my cell.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t give up and don’t walk away from me.”

“You walked away first.” Steve’s voice is flat.

“And I knew right away it was a mistake, and if you actually listened to my messages, you would _know_ that.”

“Guard!” Steve’s practically shouting. Bucky shakes his head, and he knows the guard isn’t going to listen to Steve without Bucky’s signal. 

“Fine. Fine. Give up. Hell, go to prison. But if you think that’s going to make me stop loving you, you’re an idiot.” Bucky shakes his head again. “I’m in this for life now, Rogers.”

“Yeah? Well that’s going to be my sentence too.”

“Jesus Christ, you fucking martyr.” Bucky huffs a laugh, annoyed and rough. “When you get out of here, you can give me a call. Even if it’s for no other reason than for me to say ‘I told you so.’”

Steve sighs, tired and resigned. “Go home, Buck.”

Bucky glances back at the guard, then grabs Steve by the collar, jerking him forward so they’re face to face. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

“Hey!” The guard slams his fist on the glass, and Bucky can hear his keys rattling as he grabs them to open the door.

“Tell me, Steve.”

Steve groans softly and kisses him, hard and desperate. Bucky tightens his grip, only letting go of Steve’s shirt when the guard grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him back.

“What the _fuck_ , Barnes?” The guard shoves Bucky back toward the door. “You gone crazy? You _know_ better. I have to report this now! Jesus. Fucking _paperwork_.”

“I won’t say a word if you don’t.”

“You were fucking assaulted by a prisoner. There’s a fucking camera. You don’t have to say a fucking word.” He shakes his head, casting a quick glance back at Steve to make sure he hasn’t moved. “Get the fuck out of here. _Now_.”

“You’re getting out of here, Rogers. I’m the only life sentence you’re getting.”

The guard shoves him again and shuts the door, locking it, breaking protocol by not getting Steve out of the room first. He grabs Bucky’s arm and marches him down the hallway as he radios someone to get Steve out of the room.

As they walk back to the entrance, he looks over at Bucky. “Life sentence. You guys married?”

“No.”

“Usually that’s what that means. Were you proposing? Because that was a pretty shitty proposal.”

“I wasn't proposing.”

“KInda sounded like it. Also word gets around in here. You just bought your boy a ton of shit for being gay. And being involved with a cop.”

Bucky sighs. “Shit.”

“Looks like he can handle it though.”

“Just what I need. Him getting into fights. Knowing him, he’d probably be better off in solitary.”

“He’s been good. Model prisoner. Keeps to himself. Doesn’t bother anyone. Just sits there. Talks to himself sometimes. Nightmares.”

“What does he talk about?”

“Says Duncan? Dugan? Jones. Some other things. Sound like names. Wakes up from his nightmares shouting.”

“Fuck.” Bucky rakes his hand through his hair. “Dugan and Jones were two of his men. Tortured to death in front of him. Keep him in gen pop if you can. Solitary will likely make it worse.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks, Stan. Appreciate it.”

“No problem. You ever do that shit again though? I’ll throw you in a goddamn cell of your own.”

“He gets arrested again, I’ll have more to worry about than that.” Bucky shakes his head and signs off to get his gun back. Once in his car, he calls Natasha. ”Anything yet?”

“No. Maybe. I hear you’re pushing for conjugal visits.”

“I literally just walked the fifty feet to my car. How the fuck do you know about that already?”

“Know about what? Stark just said you went to see Steve. Please, please tell me you did something stupid.”

“Goodbye, Nat.”

“Hey, you called me.”

“Right. Shit. He’s having war and torture flashbacks. He needs out of there.”

“I’m working on it. Don’t you have a sniper to catch?”

“I want in on it when you nab the perp.”

“You’re so cute. Did you learn that on _Brooklyn 99_ or did you go old school with _Law & Order_?”

“I’m serious, Nat.”

“Trust me, would you?”

“You’re just about the only person I do when it comes to him.”

“If you buy me a BFF necklace, I’m going to shoot you.”

“Right. Bye, Nat. I love you too.”

**

Tony’s practically frothing at the mouth when Bucky gets back to the station. “Turkey.”

“Is this word association? Cranberry sauce?”

“That’s our next victim, asshole.”

“How do you know?”

“There are a bunch of countries working behind the scenes to develop a... defense system. Or, well, something like that. Preemptive potential targeted system.”

“Star Wars?”

“The _movie_?”

“No, the Reagan-era defense system.”

“Oh. Yeah. Kind of. Only more androids.”

“Androids.”

“Yeah. Supposedly a peacekeeping system.” Tony doesn’t use air quotes, but they’re more than clear in his tone. “They’re developing what basically will act as a type of police force, putting an end to any rising problem.”

“Police force.” Bucky clears his throat. “Break it down a little more. What does that mean?”

“Pretty much what it sounds like.”

“Awful?”

“Yeah. And I know this sounds absolutely hypocritical coming from me, but just because you _can_ doesn’t mean you _should_.”

“You’re right. Absolutely hypocritical.”

“Fuck you.”

“So all of the countries that have been hit are involved in this?”

“Yeah.”

“But why interns?”

“They’re not. They’re scientists and physicists and engineers posing as interns so no one will pay any attention to them.”

Bucky groans. “Are there any other countries involved? I mean beyond Turkey?”

“This is where it gets dicey.”

“Ah. So one of them is the US. Which is why the alphabets are leaving us alone. Because they don’t think we’ll figure it out.”

“Ding ding. You win a prize.”

“So _we’re_ behind the Winter Soldier.”

“Amazingly the US hasn’t been targeted.” The sarcasm is thick in Tony’s voice.

“Any other countries on the hit list besides us?”

“Well, every country that’s been targeted just so happens to be one of the top twenty-five most powerful countries. So I’m guessing we’ve got another eleven on the list.”

“All right. Research.” Bucky goes back to his desk and boots up his computer, skimming through the information Tony had just told him. He’s about to start on the files in more depth when Tony interrupts him.

“How’s Rogers?”

“Not… Not great.”

“Let’s find your shooter then, so I can focus on his case.”

Bucky turns so he can see Tony. “Thanks.”

Tony just shrugs it off. “Don’t get all emotional. I just hate it when you’re moping. Everyone tries to make me feel bad for giving you shit.”

Bucky laughs. “Never change.”

“Why would I?”

**

“James.” 

Bucky looks up at Mrs. Jefferson, his eyes widening in surprise. “Hi. What brings you here?”

“Your redhead finally came by. Asked me to come down and meet her here. I’ve never been to a police station. Well, not since the sixties when Andrea and I marched in Washington. But then they just herded all of us into a room.”

Tony comes over and sits on the edge of Bucky’s desk. “Does everyone you know outside the squad room have a criminal history?”

Bucky glares at Tony. “I think I know a few people in the squad room who do too.”

“I only use my powers for good.”

“We were fighting for civil rights,” Mrs. Jefferson snaps back at Tony. “And as much as that has no bearing on the life of a Stark, it matters like hell to me.”

“Tony didn’t mean any offense, Mrs. Jefferson.” Bucky takes her arm and leads her to Natasha’s desk. “He’s better with electronics than people.”

“Can’t I sit in an interrogation room? It seems so exciting on TV. I used to watch _Homicide_. That David Simon is so clever.”

“We actually have to save those for when people are brought in for questioning. Suspects,” Bucky rushes to say before she can open her mouth. 

“Hmph. I bet your redhead is like Andre Braugher.”

“Please don’t call her my redhead. Especially if she’s in earshot.”

Mrs. Jefferson just smiles, and Bucky goes back to his desk. Fortunately Natasha keeps hers spotless, so he doesn't have to stop or prevent any snooping. Instead Mrs. Jefferson pulls out her phone and proceeds to ignore them. Bucky sighs and goes back to his files, reviewing crime scene photos.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Bucky looks up, unsure if he’s more shocked by Mrs. Jefferson speaking or by the pure venom in her voice. “Mrs. Jefferson?”

She’s out of her chair and stalking toward the man standing next to Natasha. Looking from her to him, Natasha gestures to the man. “Mrs. Jefferson, this is -- ”

“I know very well who this is. What I want to know is what he’s doing here.”

“He’s part of our invest -- ”

“How _dare_ you.”

“Detective Romanov, I -- ”

She cuts him off just as easily as she had Natasha. “Don’t you dare act like you don’t know me, Reggie Stone. I was there when you were growing up. I _saw_ what you did to them.”

Natasha glances at Bucky, and he shrugs before looking at Tony, who looks just as perplexed. “Mrs. Jefferson?” Bucky walks around the desk and places his flesh hand on her arm. “Why don’t you come with me and we’ll get you settled away from Mr. Stone.”

He guides her away toward one of the interrogation rooms. He signals for one of the uniforms to come in with them. 

“Officer Collins is going to stay here with you until Detective Romanov comes in, okay? Do you want coffee, tea, soda, or water?”

“Tea’s fine. I certainly hope you’re -- ”

“No,” Bucky cuts her off. “I can’t be involved if it’s got anything to do with Steve’s case. I can’t know anything.”

She glares and crosses her arms over her chest. Bucky hurries out to hide his smile, ducking into the kitchen to get her tea. Natasha comes out of the other interrogation room and looks at him. 

“You have any idea what that was about?”

“Not even a little. Collins is in with her. I didn’t let her talk at all. You want to take her the tea?”

“Pretty sure my case just got more complicated.”

“I’d feel sorry for you, except I have an international assassin and a global government conspiracy all wrapped up in a red ball to take care of.”

“Still no word from the alphabets?”

“They won’t touch it. Say we need to work with the consulate. Tony and I are pretty sure the US government is involved and they’re hoping we’re too stupid to solve it.”

“Are you?”

“Fuck you. Go solve your case. I don’t want to visit my boyfriend in jail again.”

“And here I thought seeing your boy would make you nicer.”

“Go solve a murder, Romanov.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch.”

**

Mrs. Jefferson leaves a couple hours later, still looking angry. Sam leaves with her, and Bucky watches Natasha go into the other room. He can hear the annoyance in the guy’s voice, hear Natasha soothing him before the door closes.

He goes back to his files, barely looking away to take the Red Bull -- to go with your red ball, Barnes -- Tony holds in front of him. He perches on the edge of the desk again. “Figured it out yet?”

“I have a few thoughts. All of the murders have been near the embassies or consulates, but away from it. Every single one has been mid-day. I think this little cabal is using their lunch hour to get down to business. We need to look at calendars. This is political, but everything is happening on personal time. That’s what’s throwing us off. We’re looking for something in the liminal spaces.”

“I’ll do some research. Dig into electronic calendars. See what I can find on the ones from the previous victims, assuming there’s still a record.”

“Do we know where our victim was coming from?” Bucky stands and looks at the closed door, like it might give him a hint as to what’s going on with Nat. “I’m going to go see if this info will jar anything loose with his coworkers. We’ll set up a daily timeline for each of the vics on the whiteboard when I get back.”

“I’ll send you anything pertinent that I come up with. And if we have breaking news in any other cases.”

“Thanks.”

Bucky drives to the embassy, not really surprised by the runaround he gets. They don’t think that, without the FBI or CIA involved, the situation is being taken seriously. They do eventually let him talk to the victim’s co-workers again. Just before he goes in, he calls Clint to get verification of the stomach contents.

He asks relatively mundane questions, purely follow up. He thanks them and starts to leave, then stops.

“Hey, unrelated to the investigation, I’m starving. Is there a good Ethiopian place around here?”

“There’s a new place about five blocks from here,” one of them says.

“Isn’t that where Abdulatif went to lunch that day?”

“I think so.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that,” Bucky says, glad for the information, but annoyed that no one thought to mention it until now. In the initial interviews they’d all been vague and unhelpful. “I’ll have to check it out.”

He turns in his visitor’s pass and retrieves his gun, but leaves his car and walks to the restaurant. The smell hits him and his stomach growls, reminding him that he actually is hungry. He orders Doro Wot and looks around the place. When the waitress brings his food, he smiles at her. 

“Hi.”

She blushes. “Hello.”

“My name is James. I’m a police detective.” He pulls out his badge and lays it on the table. Her eyes widen and she looks ready to bolt. He lays two fingers gently on her wrist. “I’m investigating the death of someone who may have eaten here.”

“We didn’t poison anyone!”

“No! No. Not because he ate here. We’re just trying to figure out where he went on the day he died.”

“When was it?”

“Not long. A little over a week ago.”

“Oh. Oh yes. The man who was shot? The one from the embassy?”

“Yes. Do you remember seeing him that day?”

“I wasn’t working, but my brother, Alimaju, was here. I can get him for you.”

“I’d really appreciate it.” He glances at her nametag. “Ife. I hope I said that right.”

“You did fine, Detective. Let me get my brother.” She turns and disappears into the kitchen. It’s several minutes later when a man who looks to be in his mid-twenties comes out. He has a pitcher of water in his hand and refills Bucky's glass even though he hasn't taken more than a single drink.

“My sister said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes. If I could.” He holds out his hand. Alimaju sets down the water and takes Bucky's hand warily. “I’m Detective James Barnes. I’m investigating the death of Abdulatif Barzegar, the embassy employee. His co-workers said he came here for lunch the day he was killed.”

“Yes. I normally would not have remembered him, but he’s been in before. And he was different that day. Agitated. And we had to ask him to leave.”

“May I ask why?”

“He was arguing on the phone. We told him he was disturbing the other patrons. He hung up, but then two men came in about fifteen minutes later. They went over to him and started arguing again. Dad kicked them out.”

“Do you think, if I brought in a sketch artist, you could give us a description of the two men?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I was mostly in the kitchen, but I know they were in suits. I’m sorry I don’t know more.”

“You’ve been very helpful. I really appreciate it.” Bucky's stomach growls again. “And now I’m going to dig into this, because it smells amazing.”

“I hope you enjoy.”

The food’s as good as it smells, and Bucky leaves an appreciative tip, as well as texting the place’s name to Natasha, Tony, and Bruce to recommend it to them. He also asks Tony to pull up the street cameras around the place.

He heads back to the station, slumping into his chair as soon as he’s at his desk. Natasha’s gone, and Tony’s actually the only one left from the day shift still there. “You know I didn’t mean right now.”

“Only got so much time before the next hit. I sent the file to you too. Figure we can split them up. There are three that show the area.”

“Okay.” Bucky yawns and then opens the view from the first camera. He fast forwards to lunch time, slowing just before the time the victim supposedly left the embassy. He watches closely, seeing a shadow at the top of the screen that doesn’t belong.

He cues up the camera Tony’s not working on and fast forwards to the time signature. It’s from a different angle, across the street, so he doesn’t see a corresponding shadow.

“Stark. Go to thirteen-fifty.”

Bucky goes over to Tony’s computer and watches. Tony cues up the time, then sets his computer to go through the view frame by frame. “What are we looking for?”

“Stop. Right there.” Bucky points to a black elongated shadow stretched across the street, sidewalk, and wall. “That’s either a spotter or our sniper. Spotter, I think. No self-respecting sniper would leave a shadow. And this person is too good to make a rookie mistake. I imagine this guy,” Bucky taps on the screen, “Is someone else’s insurance policy.”

“Well, there’s nothing on the next target’s schedule as far as I can tell. At least not electronically.”

“Time to go visit the embassy and let them know they might be next on the target list. See if we can rattle a few cages?”

”Sounds good.” 

“Tomorrow though.” Bucky stands up and stretches, his spine popping. “They’ll be closed or closing up the main offices by now. Get some rest.”

“Right. You too.”

Bucky hasn’t really slept since he’d walked out on lunch with Steve. “Yeah. Right behind you.”

**

Bucky walks into his condo and freezes. There’s a light on that was off when he left that morning, and he can hear the shower in the master bath running. He shuts the door quietly and locks it before drawing his gun.

The bathroom door is open, and he walks toward it, careful to stay out of any line of sight. He stays alert to his surroundings, just in case the shower noise is a diversion. He clears the entrance and grabs the shower door, slamming it open. It bounces against the opposite wall and slams back toward Bucky. He catches it with his shoulder, gun pointed steadily at the center mass of the person in the shower.

He swallows hard and blinks, not quite believing what he’s seeing. “S-Steve.”

“Hi.” Steve glances at the gun and telegraphs his movements as he reaches out to turn off the water.

“What… How… You’re in my shower.” Bucky lowers the gun and engages the safety before sliding it back in the shoulder holster. 

“Natasha dropped me off here. I…”

“You don’t have a key.”

“David next door let me in with the emergency key you gave him.”

“Oh.”

“I can go. I told her to take me home, but she wouldn’t, and I didn’t have money for a cab. Mrs. Jefferson wasn’t answering her phone, and I didn’t really have anyone else to call. So… I mean, if you could just lend me some money for a cab, I’ll go home. I’ll get the money back to you as soon as I can.”

“You’re in my shower.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have, but I just…”

“Shut up.” Bucky reaches out and traces Steve’s jaw. “You’re not going anywhere. In fact.” Bucky tugs his tie loose, moving his hand away from Steve so he can strip off his clothes. He climbs into the shower as soon as he’s naked, shutting the door behind him before crowding Steve against the wall.

He stops just short of kissing Steve, lips barely brushing, tasting his breath. “Don’t ever go away.”

“We need…”

“I know. We need to talk. We need to talk about how I’m a complete and utter idiot who had a knee-jerk reaction. But not now. Please.” He kisses Steve lightly, then pulls back enough to catch his eye. “Tell me to stop if you need.”

Steve closes his eyes and leans in to kiss Bucky, his tongue tracing Bucky’s lips until they part. Bucky whimpers into the kiss, sucking on Steve’s tongue. His hands slide up Steve’s chest to his shoulders, down his arms to his wrists, guiding his hands forward so they settle on Bucky’s hips.

Steve’s fingers tighten, digging in hard enough to bruise, and Bucky moans into his mouth. Steve’s nails carve crescent moons into Bucky’s skin and Bucky grabs his arms to keep his balance. 

Steve lets go of Bucky enough to slide one hand over Bucky’s ass and pull him closer. Their cocks slide together, and Steve’s breath catches. “Tell me I can fuck you?”

“Oh, god. Please. Need you inside me. Need you more than anything.” Bucky knows he’s begging, but Steve is thrusting against him slowly, and Bucky has no idea how he’s so calm and in control. All Bucky wants to do is touch him everywhere. Touch and kiss and suck him until the rest of the world falls away. “Love you so much.”

Steve nuzzles at Bucky’s jaw. “Love you,” he agrees, the words pressed to Bucky’s skin. “Bed. Want you.”

Bucky reaches back blindly to open the shower door, refusing to let Steve go as he stumbles out into the bathroom. He makes an annoyed noise when Steve lets go of him to grab a towel. “Don’t care if you’re wet. Want to get messed up and need a shower after.”

Steve laughs softly and kisses him, backing him into the bedroom. The back of Bucky’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. Steve steps back so Bucky can’t grab him to keep from falling, so Bucky sits down hard. Steve smirks down at him as Bucky pouts, but then he sinks down to his knees. He cups Bucky’s kneecaps with his hands and spreads his legs, moving forward between them.

“Hey.” His voice rumbles, and Bucky feels it in his spine. He reaches out, tracing the rough stubble on Steve’s jaw. It rasps against his finger, and he realizes his face is likely red from their kisses. He smooths his palm against the bristles

“Hi.” His voice is soft, his eyes holding Steve’s. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too.” His mouth widens in a grin, and he pushes Bucky’s legs wider apart. “You have lube?”

Bucky nods, swallowing hard. It’s stupid to feel so nervous and wrong-footed. He lies back on the bed and stretches up, grabbing the bottle. Steve’s hands smooth up and down Bucky’s thighs, so he stays there for a moment, closes his eyes and revels in the feeling. Finally he sits up, and Steve is smiling at him. Bucky gives him a weak smile, then frowns down at the bottle of lube.

“What’s wrong?” Steve reaches out and takes Bucky’s chin in his hand so he has to meet Steve’s eyes. “Buck?”

“Do you want this?” He hates the way his voice sounds. Hates that the fear and nervousness are actually there for a reason.

“This? What? You? Us?”

“Sex.”

“Do I seem like I don’t want it?” Steve glances down at his erection that’s only flagged slightly. He tilts his head as if he’s waiting for an answer, even though it’s obvious.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just been so long, and I don’t want you to feel obliga -- ”

Steve cuts him off with a hard kiss, hungry and aggressive. He rises from his knees and guides Bucky back onto the bed, settling between his legs, and bracing himself on his elbows over him. “It killed me when you walked out of that house.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” His voice breaks slightly. “Text me? See me?”

“You were so angry, and I didn’t understand what I did wrong.” Steve shrugs, which looks strange with the position he’s in. “And, I don’t know. You sounded so final.”

“I hated every second we were apart.”

“And then you stopped. And I got arrested.” Steve closes his eyes and drops his head so he can rest it against Bucky’s.

“I had a case. And then I got my current case. And then you were in jail.” He runs his hands up and down Steve’s sides, still slightly tacky and damp. “You’re not in jail.”

Steve shakes his head, not moving away, so Bucky can feel it. “No.”

The reality suddenly hits Bucky. Steve’s not in jail. He’s _there_. With a low groan, Bucky rolls them over. “Jesus, Steve.” He kisses him hungrily, starving for the taste of him.

Steve moans in response, his fingers firm on Bucky’s ass to keep him close. “Buck. Oh, god.” Steve rolls his hips up, their cocks sliding together. Any nervousness Bucky had disappears, dissolves in the heat between them. He reaches back and grabs Steve’s thigh, guiding his leg over the back of Bucky’s and slotting them closer together.

Steve thrusts up, sliding his fingers through the sheen of perspiration in the small of Bucky’s back. He braces his free foot on the mattress and grinds up against Bucky.

“Need you.”

Bucky nods. “Want to ride you.”

Steve eases his leg off of Bucky, leaving himself spread-eagled on the bed. Bucky gets on his knees and grabs the lube. “C’mere,” Steve growls.

Bucky moves up, straddling Steve’s chest. He bites his lower lip and looks down at Steve. “You want to prep me?”

Steve nods, his gaze possessive as it sweeps over Bucky’s body. He takes the lube and opens it, covering his fingers so they’re slick and shiny. He slips his hand between Bucky’s legs, rubbing his fingers over Bucky’s perineum, then back over the tight pucker of his opening.

Bucky moans softly at Steve’s touch. It’s been too long, and it makes hot shivers run up and down his spine. “Yes. Fuck.”

Steve takes his time, one hand on Bucky’s hip as the other strokes and teases, rubbing until every one of Bucky’s nerve endings feel like they’re on fire. His cock is leaking, dripping down onto Steve’s stomach, occasionally onto his wrist.

It feels like forever before Steve actually slips his finger inside him. Bucky catches his breath at the penetration, at the way Steve’s finger seems to fill him up. “Been so long.” Bucky’s voice is rough, breaking slightly. “Missed you so much.”

“You’re so tight.” Steve’s finger strokes the sensitive skin inside, rubbing over and against the rim of Bucky’s hole. He doesn't push past the first knuckle, and Bucky tries to thrust down and take him deeper. Steve breathes a laugh and licks his lips. “You fuck yourself while we were apart?”

“No. N-no. Oh, fuck.” Bucky moans as Steve pushes his finger deeper. He touches Bucky, working him over, buried inside Bucky all the way down to the thick base of his finger. Bucky's head falls back, and he surrenders to the steady rhythm Steve establishes. His body arches as Steve’s finger curls, grazing Bucky’s prostate.

He barely has time to recover before Steve adds a second finger, adds stretch and sensation to everything else. Bucky touches Steve’s chest, light fingers over his nipples. There’s a cool jolt of more lube, and then a third finger. It’s so much after far too long that Bucky’s fingers curl into claws and he rakes them over the hard nub of Steve’s nipple, catching it in a tight pinch as Steve’s hips jerk, as his fingers push deeper.

“God, fuck me,” Bucky begs, grinding down onto Steve’s hand. Steve rubs his thumb over Bucky’s perineum and Bucky’s cock jerks. “Please. I need you in me when I come.”

Steve growls, fingers rubbing Bucky’s prostate one last time before he pulls them out. Bucky moans roughly, back arching. His cock jerks again and he loses control, coming over Steve’s abs. Bucky’s hips keep jerking, and he can’t help whimpering.

“Sh. Relax.” Steve rubs his free hand along Bucky’s thigh as he grasps his cock, angling it toward Bucky. “Gonna take me so easy now.”

Bucky shifts back, taking Steve’s cock in hand and holding him still as he sinks down onto him. “Yes,” Bucky breathes, seating himself on Steve, his cock buried deep. “Oh, fuck yes.”

Steve’s eyes are closed, and his head is back, his mouth open. He’s the most beautiful thing Bucky’s ever seen. He leans forward and kisses him. It’s messy, wet, and artless. Bucky shifts and starts to lean back. Steve grabs his hips, thrusting up at the same time and Bucky can’t help crying out, the hard press of Steve’s cock against the bundle of nerves too much.

Steve doesn’t relent. He tightens his grip and his thighs are against Bucky’s back, his feet on the mattress for leverage as he thrusts into Bucky desperately, hard and fast and deep. It’s a barrage on his prostate, every stroke sending another jolt up Bucky’s spine.

“Christ. St-Steve.” Bucky holds onto Steve’s rib cage, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. “Please. Love you. ’M so sorry. God. Oh, god.”

Steve’s nails, longer than normal, dig into Bucky’s ass as his thighs tighten and he thrusts up, body frozen there for an endless moment before Bucky feels the hot pulse of Steve’s orgasm. Bucky comes again, falling forward and barely managing to catch and brace himself over Steve. His muscles quiver and he gives up, letting his body slump down, his head on Steve’s chest.

“Love you,” Bucky breathes against Steve’s skin.

Steve’s fingers tangle in Bucky’s hair, and he turns his head for another sloppy kiss. Bucky can feel Steve trembling, feel his cock still twitching as it softens inside Bucky. Steve bites Bucky’s lower lip, tugging gently before he lets it go.

“Love you too.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, so he’s not sure how long after Steve whispered those words it was before it happened. He wakes up in the same position. His stomach is tacky with drying come, and he clenches his ass to feel the tip of Steve’s cock inside him.

A quick glance at his alarm clock -- superfluous since he uses his phone, but too much effort to get rid of -- is fuzzy, blurry until he blinks a few times.

It’s early, just before two. Steve’s mouth is slightly open, and he looks peaceful. Bucky’s flooded with questions now that he can think with something other than adrenaline and need, but he can only imagine how exhausted Steve must be after too long in jail.

He eases away carefully, biting his lip to keep from making a sound as Steve’s cock slips free. There’s an ache in Bucky’s muscles and his ass. He clenches everything and closes his eyes, relishing it for a moment before heading to the bathroom. He takes a quick shower, then wrings out a warm washcloth, going back to the bedroom to gently clean Steve up.

Steve mumbles softly in his sleep, reaching for Bucky. Bucky goes easily and curls into him. Steve turns on his side and pulls Bucky close, spooning him, Bucky’s back to his chest.

A hot rush of emotion chokes Bucky, and he has to swallow down a sob. He’d been scared he lost this, but he hadn’t realized _how_ scared until now.

“Sh,” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s skin. “’M here. Love you.”

“Talk later?”

“Sleep, Buck.”

“Just because you were a Captain and I was a Sergeant doesn’t mean you can boss me around.”

Steve squeezess Bucky, pulling him closer. “Sleep.”

**

The next time Bucky wakes up, the sun is filtering in through the window and hits him in the eye.

He’s alone in bed.

He sits up in a panic, and the residual soreness lets him know it wasn’t a dream, but he can’t hear Steve in the apartment. He gets out of bed and tugs on last night’s boxers, heading into the living room. 

Steve’s on the floor in front of the couch, the TV muted. It’s _His Girl Friday_ , which makes Bucky smile, but the sight of Steve in his boxers and T-shirt, wrapped tight in a blanket, sobers him up.

He sits on the couch, knee not quite touching Steve’s shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Nightmare?”

He shakes his head, but Bucky can tell he’s lying. “We get up now. In jail. They wake us up. Five in the morning. On the dot. Every day.”

“The guard told me you’d been having… problems.”

“Just the circumstances. I’m fine now.”

“Okay.” Bucky brushes his fingers over the nape of Steve’s neck, hoping the resulting shiver is a good one. “Want some coffee?”

“I’ll make it.”

“Okay. I’ll make us some breakfast before I have to go to work. You want me to drop you at your place? Get your car? Some clothes?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“What?” Bucky stops on his way to the kitchen, turning to look at Steve behind him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in the middle of a big case. I’m still involved in an active investigation. Though, hey, there’s more chance that I’ll be a witness for the prosecution than the defendant, so that’s nice.”

“A change of pace.” Bucky’s weak smile isn’t much stronger than Steve’s. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” He gets to his feet, tossing the blanket to the back of the couch. He leaves Bucky standing there as he heads for the coffee maker. Bucky watches him for a moment, trying to figure out where the landmines are. 

He shakes his head and looks away, focusing for a moment on the honey-brown of the cabinets Steve had installed. He has to push the memory of the look of pride in Steve’s eyes when Bucky had seen the finished product out of his head. He digs out the makings for omelets and asks Steve to pass him a bowl so he can whip the eggs.

“Tell me about the house?” He says the words softly, though just barely stepping on a landmine doesn’t make it blow up any less.

Steve shrugs. “Well, as far as I knew, I bought it. I was going to salvage what I could if the foundation was solid. Then I was going to rebuild the interior, try and keep the outside as close to the original as possible.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

Bucky’s not trying to pick a fight, but Steve’s back tenses. “I didn’t realize I require your approval on my projects.”

“So you’re flipping it.”

“Maybe. I haven’t redone a house from the ground up before. Maybe I’ll want it when I’m done.”

“And what about us?” Bucky looks at the stove, not sure he wants to meet Steve’s gaze.

“Is that what this is all about?” Bucky can feel Steve staring at him. Steve laughs, somewhat bitter, nothing humorous.

“That’s funny?”

“Was it me saying that I bought it or that you assumed I bought it for us and I didn’t consult you?”

“Pick one. I just… I just thought the next house you bought would be the one we got together.”

“We’ve mentioned that once, and haven’t talked about it since. Hell, we don’t even live together.”

“For all intents and purposes we do!” Bucky snaps, then forces himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Or am I just reading this wrong?”

Steve sighs. “No. You’re not reading it wrong. Let’s just… How about for now, we just eat and drink our coffee. Table this until tonight.”

“I’m not sure I can.” Bucky puts the omelets on plates and sets them on the kitchen counter. Steve circles it and sits, sliding Bucky’s coffee across to him. “We talked about it when you put in the cabinets. Mentioned it. I assumed that implied us living together at some point. You’re here almost every night. Unless you’re in jail.”

He knows he’s gone too far the moment he says the words. Steve puts his coffee mug down slowly and deliberately. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?” Steve’s face is blank. He’s wearing a bland, meaningless smile that means he’s done with the conversation. He’s effectively shut himself off. “It’s true.”

“Can we just start this morning over please?”

“Doesn’t work that way.” Steve pushes his plate away. “I should take a shower. If that’s all right.”

“You said you love me.” Bucky’s careful to keep his voice neutral, because otherwise it will shake. “Did you mean it?”

“I wasn’t the one who walked away from you.”

“Do you want a house together? A life together?”

“Bucky.”

“C’mon, Steve. It’s easy. Yes or no.”

“You know I do.”

“Then why does this all seem so -- ” He’s cut off by his work phone. Grabbing it, he practically snarls. “Barnes.”

“I’m feeling hungry. Thought we could meet up.”

Tony’s voice pushes everything else aside. “Where are we having lunch?”

“Little Vietnamese place.”

“It’s a sure thing?”

“Well, we need to figure out where a sniper would be hiding. And I was thinking, wow, if only I knew a sniper.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Hey, congrats. I heard the jailbird’s free.”

“Goodbye Tony. Send me the address.”

“It’s on its way, Sarge.”

“Don’t call me that.” He disconnects the call. Steve’s walking out of the bedroom, fully dressed. 

“If you want to loan me some money, I’ll get an Uber home or something. Let you get to work.”

“Your place is on the way. Let me just take a quick shower.” Steve looks like he’s about to protest, but he stops and nods. 

“Thanks.”

**

“Have a good night?” Natasha asks as she opens his car door. Bucky gives her a quick look that makes her wince. “Or not.”

“Last night was great. This morning sucked.”

She bites her bottom lip and shrugs slightly. “Sorry?”

“There’s a lot we need to talk about. But right now I just want to catch this person red-handed, prove they were idiots not to think we could do it. I’m sure the Feebs’ll take all the credit and the shooter will be disappeared somehow, but I’ll know.” He waves at Coulson, who heads over, then turns back to Natasha. “How’d you get Steve loose so fast?”

“You know our ever-so-helpful inspector?”

“Yeah.”

“Apparently he’d been in the foster system. The Gordon’s had housed him for a while, but there were some issues. Violence. Whole host of sociopathic signs, all nicely hidden in his juvenile record. Apparently, according to Mrs. Peterson, he swore he’d get back at the Gordon’s when they sent him back into the system. He never got fostered again, but he did go to juvie three times before he aged out. Since then, as far as we know, he’s been clean. But knowing where to look helped us find evidence. Hopefully it’s enough to get Hammer convinced, but Steve’s going to get thrown up as reasonable doubt and potential police bias, so we handed all the info to the 71st, and they found the evidence. Nothing to do with us.”

Bucky nods. “Good. I’m glad. I mean. For Steve.” Sighing, he slumps back against his car. “I don’t know, Nat. I think I really fucked us up.”

“Barnes.” Captain Coulson comes over and points to the buildings around them. There’s just a small contingent of officers there, the SWAT teams well away until it’s time. “Which building?”

Bucky’s mind had already been turning the problem over. “That one’s got the best vantage point. That’s where his spotter or watchdog is going to be.” He looks around again, starting from the restaurant and turning in a slow circle. He checks it twice before nodding. “That one.”

“Rooftop?”

“No. Fifth, sixth, or seventh floor. Whichever one’s got an empty, unrented, or mid-refurbishment office. Put two guys on each sidewalk to keep an eye out for civilians. This person’s good, which means he’s going to be able to spot police presence. Plus we don’t know when the spotter will be in place. Get someone up to check the roof over there, and then get some SWAT near the roof but out of sight.”

“Where do you want me?” Natasha asks. She’s their best shot after Bucky.

“I want you in the building. If I can’t take ’em down, you’ll need to.

“All right,” Coulson says. “Move out.” The rest of the team disperses, and he turns back to Bucky. “Where are you going to be?”

Bucky points at the building opposite the one he knows the sniper will pick. “I’ll give you the signal to relay to the team.”

“Sounds good. Good shooting.”

Bucky nods and goes to his trunk, pulling out a slim duffel. As he climbs the stairs, he empties his thoughts of everything -- worries, fears, concerns, him and Steve -- and just focuses on trajectories and wind. In the service, he’d had his own scout, but without combat conditions, his sight will be more than enough.

He stops at the sixth floor, waiting for information from the Alpha team in the sniper building.

“Three possibles,” Natasha tells him on his comm. “Fifth floor, seventh window from your right. Eight is the third from your left or the sixth from your left.”

“Okay. I’ll check ‘em out. You guys keep an eye out.” He scouts all the locations, ending up on the ninth floor with good sightlines to the windows of the opposite building, wondering which one will have his target..

After that it’s a waiting game. Bucky can’t see the spotter’s roof, but buzzing in his comms lets him know there’s activity there.

“Lunch time on the calendar coming up,” he hears Tony say. Coulson calls for them all to be ready to go at his mark. 

Bucky shuts out the rest of the world so that all there is is his breathing and his rifle.The Army trained him for this. Trained him how to kill carefully, precisely, and ruthlessly. Now that’s behind him, but he still feels it in his bones, in his blood. Discharged from the Army, hell, even if he doesn’t have his badge, he’ll always be a sniper.

“Romanov, I’ve got activity in the third window on the seventh.”

“On it.”

“Fifth floor is clear.” Bucky doesn’t recognize the voice, but it’s likely one of the uniforms dressed as a civilian. 

“Seven-three is clear, Barnes. Nothing out of place. Maybe the AC kicked on and moved something?”

“Our guy is leaving the embassy on foot,” Tony says. “He’s on the phone. God, I love government-issued phones. Don’t care what government. They’re as easy as -- ”

Bucky’s initially surprised as Commodore Kirby cuts Tony off. “Stark. What’s he saying?”

“Well, I don’t speak Bela-Russian, so let me run it through Google Translate.”

Bucky snorts. “You’re lucky you're brilliant, Stark.”

“Aw. Why thank you, Barnes. It's nice to be appreciated.” Tony’s quiet for a moment. “Seems like it’s a personal call, but it feels hinkey. Give me a minute.”

Another voice, Riley this time. “We’ve got the spotter on the roof. He’s on the phone.”

“Talking to the target?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “So, less personal and more, ‘No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die.’ Code broke down and they’re flat out arguing. This guy has to be big in the operation, Barnes. He’s talking about the hits like they’ve got one on someone else.”

“Tony, are we on the wrong guy?” Bucky’s voice is hard and demanding.

“No! There wasn’t anyone else. This guy is getting double-crossed. Someone way above our pay grade is gonna want this guy when we catch him.”

“Target approaching the restaurant.”

“Tony!” Bucky snaps

Tony’s voice is sharp. “This is our guy.”

“Spotter ended his call. Making another.”

Bucky sights along the rifle and checks the third window again, and then the sixth. There’s no movement from either, then Bucky sees a flash of light, a burst of reflection off a sight, and he fires.

“Move in now. Now.” Bucky calls. “Third window from the right.” He can hear Coulson telling everyone to go. Bucky looks through his sight again. The shooter has his rifle trained on Bucky. The sight is likely damaged from Bucky’s shot, but that makes the shooter even more dangerous, more likely to be deadly to civilians.

Bucky exhales and fires, the familiar red of blood blossoming out as he hits the shooter’s shoulder. Natasha and a group of SWAT bust into the room and take the guy down. They don’t even have him in handcuffs before the street is swarmed with black cars and vans. Bucky huffs a laugh, though it’s less amused and more bitter and resigned.

“Feebs are here,” Bucky says with a sigh. “Let’s try to get a question or two in before they all three get disappeared.”

“Our government and the mob.” Tony tsks. “Well, I suppose a lot of governments. Maybe we should just make ’em an off-”

“Stark. Don’t,” Sam says.

“Right,” Tony agrees. “Drinks at my place after work.”

“You never leave the office,” Natasha reminds him.

“Right. Okay. After work for most people. I’d say for normal people, but well.”

“I’ve got a mountain of paperwork and alphabet agencies in my future,” Bucky states as he makes his way back down the stairs and out of the building. “Any partying I do is going to have to wait.”

“Pfft. That’s okay. Not like you were relevant to the case.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

“My pleasure.” 

Bucky takes out the earpiece and hands it off, surrendering his rifle for forensics. The only thing he’ll have to do is write up his after-action and discharged weapon reports, since he has no doubt his perp is already on his way to Washington, DC. So, a few hours at his desk, and then he can see if he can get the rest of his life back on track. 

Hopefully.

**

By the time he actually gets out of the station after reports and more reports and press that he hadn’t been able to avoid, it’s three in the morning, and he’s exhausted. He locks the front door of his condo and heads straight to the bathroom, stripping off his suit on the way. He turns the water on as hot as it will go. He’s not sure how long he stays there, letting the water pound down on his head and shoulders.

He finally drags himself out and towels off, his hair still damp as he walks into the bedroom. He stops at the dark shape on his bed, but he’s calmer than last night, maybe because he’d let himself hope.

“Steve?”

“Is there someone else I might be?”

There’s a hint of amusement in Steve’s voice, so Bucky shakes his head and laughs roughly. “No. I guess I just didn’t really expect you to be here.”

Steve sits up, leaning against the headboard. “Saw you on the news.”

“Did I look sexy?”

“Always.” Steve reaches over and switches on the bedside lamp. His chest is bare, and the sheet is pooled at his waist. “The guy with you was a tool.”

“That’s Hammer. The guy in charge of prosecuting the inspector. And he is. A tool.”

“Good to be right in my character analysis.”

Bucky sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches out and puts his hand on Steve’s where it’s sitting on top of the covers. “We’re not okay, are we?”

“I don’t know. You walked out without talking to me. You didn’t ask questions. Your whole job is about gathering evidence, being _sure_. You didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt, much less reasonable doubt.”

“I overreacted. I know.” He sighs. “I know I did. And I realized it right away, and I know that was still too late. I should have trusted you. But to be fair, you could have talked to me. Told me you were buying a house. Not because you needed to ask me, but because we’re supposed to be in a partnership.”

Steve sighs, exhaling slowly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t realize I was here until after your shower.”

Bucky shrugs. They’re still not okay, but they’re better. “I had a long day.”

Steve pats the mattress next to him. “Come to bed.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

**

Bucky squints against the sun, looking over the house. “I can’t believe you went with that color.”

“It wasn’t my choice.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulls him close. “The new owners put in a special request.”

“I guess it’s what you get when you sell to people who want a house specifically because people have died in it.” Bucky rests his head against Steve’s shoulder. 

“I’ve got a bid on my house too. The other house someone died in.”

“At least that one wasn’t blamed on you. And was self-defense.” He turns his head and places a soft kiss on Steve’s bicep. “I didn’t know you’d put that one on the market.”

“I haven’t. Apparently these guys,” Steve nods to the house. “Have friends. Enough friends that, if any of my future houses -- ”

“No. Don’t even joke about that.” Stepping away, he grabs Steve’s hand and tugs him toward the open front door. “Show me around.”

Steve lets Bucky lead him inside. The house looks nothing like it had when Steve had shown it to him just over a year ago.

“This is amazing.”

“Not what I planned, but at least it sold. And for enough that I think I can buy a rambler. Fit for wheelchair access. One of the guys at the VA was talking about looking for housing.”

“How about you let him buy it, and then work on it?” Bucky starts for the stairs and the second floor. “You know, we should’ve christened this place before you sold it.”

Steve laughs and tugs Bucky back, turning him so they’re face to face. His fingers, rough and calloused, stroke Bucky’s cheek. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“I do.” He kisses Bucky, slow and thorough, his free hand tangling in Bucky’s hair. 

Eventually Bucky pulls away. His teeth are sunk into Steve’s lower lip, and he tugs it gently before releasing it. “Sell the house.”

“I did.”

“Not this one. The other one. Sell it. Move in with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Move in and live with me. Let’s live together. Drive each other crazy all day everyday.”

“Wow, you’re really selling this. You should think about buying a used car lot.”

“I want to live with you. I want to be with you. No one else. Ever.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it has been over a year. The odds of me being arrested again are probably slim.”

“Let’s not joke about that.” Bucky kisses him again. “Let me be your alibi, okay?”

“That was awful. You’re definitely not writing our vows if we get married.”

The words hit Bucky like a slap that snaps the world into crystal clarity. “Oh, c’mon. Nothing’s more romantic than telling someone they have the right to remain silent.”

“You know you say that a lot on the job, right?”

“Yeah. Okay. Fair point. None of that.” He smiles at Steve, slow and wicked, starting up the stairs again and tugging Steve with him. “But handcuffs though…”


End file.
